


Subterranean Pool

by somekindofseizure



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Episode: s04e04 Unruhe, Episode: s07e13 First Person Shooter, F/M, MSR, Office Sex, Season/Series 07, Season/Series 10, The X-Files Revival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-05-24 12:03:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6153081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somekindofseizure/pseuds/somekindofseizure
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mulder and Scully in their office - Season 7 vs. Season 10.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Subterranean Pool

Scully wants to resent her partner, she really does. He is the reason, after all, that she’s in a basement office at nearly nine thirty at night, starving and inundated by paperwork. But he’s also sitting across from her, his forearms stemming out of white rolled cuffs, tanned and covered in downy blonde springtime-run hairs. She should have made sure they were caught up on their record-keeping before she started sleeping with him.

If she’s being honest with herself, she knows he is not solely responsible. They both have a tendency to avoid putting things in writing. But Scully was not like this before she met him. She kept journals. She made to-do lists. She wrote things she’d already done on them for the simple pleasure of crossing them off. And she damn well knew whether she was sleeping with someone, dating them, or just occasionally sharing a lapse in judgment with them. Mulder had introduced fear of filling in blanks into her life.

So here they are, facing a couple dozen unfinished reports that Skinner wants completed. He claims his superiors are breathing down his neck, but Scully has a feeling Skinner knows about them and that this is his form of punishment. She has to remind herself that just because she can’t stop thinking about Mulder’s hands all over her doesn’t mean everyone else is thinking about it. She’s not even sure Mulder is. 

She places her final file into the ‘finished’ stack as Mulder compares three of his at once, looking for new connections to mysteries Scully believes were fiction to begin with. Their imaginations are like radio stations – beginning and ending at different frequencies, producing static excitement where they touch. 

“Should I help with your stack?” she asks.

“How is it that you can answer these questions so easily, Scully?”

“I can’t. But I have learned to write ‘I can’t answer these questions’ very quickly.”

He loosens his tie. A few weeks ago, she would have interpreted this as a signal that he has hours more work in him. Now it makes her picture herself winding it off his neck, running it through her hands, between her breasts…

She clears her throat and reminds herself for the fourteenth time today that she is at work. The third time was surely the least dignified, following a quiet masturbation session in the bathroom. He had placed his hand on her waist as he opened a door for her, let it linger ever so slightly too long. About three minutes later, she was under fluorescent lights, making herself come while leaning a hip against a roll of toilet paper. It is not the kind of thing she plans to do twice in one day.

“Do you mind if I go home?” she asks, tidying her neat stack of files.

“Go ahead. You’ve done more than your fair share.” His answer alerts her to the fact that she’d been hoping he’d come home with her. She searches his face for evidence that he’s lost interest. He is always one step ahead of her and in regards to this new aspect of their relationship, she refuses to be left in the dark. If it’s over, she must know, she must stop watching him fold the cartilage of his ear with a pencil eraser, thinking of tumbling it exactly that way in her mouth. 

“Guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says irritably, feeling weak and needy.

“Guess so,” he mutters.   He is either truly indifferent to her, or he’s calling her bluff. She brings her stack around to him, stalling to preserve the nearness of him, judging herself as she does so. The old Scully would have headed home the minute she got the green light. The new Scully has the memory of Mulder’s dick running up the center of her, strong and straight as a second spine, and it keeps her here.

“Just sign these,” she says standing over his shoulder, giving him a pen in place of his pencil. She places her hand on the back of his chair and imagines him turning fervently into the triangle trap of her body. But instead, he reads over her work, ticking lines with his pen methodically as he moves down the document, circling back to the top, moving down again… 

“Oh my God, Mulder. If you’re going to do it like that, it’s going to take all night.”

“I thought that was how you like it,” he says, tossing a match into the highly flammable pit of her groin. She squeezes her legs together as the heat melts her resolve right into the crotch of her pantyhose. She remembers she’s not wearing underwear and her face burns. She tightens the reigns on her voice to keep it from rushing ahead.

“You don’t trust me to fill out a case report by now?” she asks.

“I want to know what I’m co-signing.” He continues to study the file.

“Fine,” she says and leans against the bookcase behind Mulder. “I can wait.” She’s not willing to let him turn her into an insecure teenager for one more moment. If he thinks she will take a back seat to this mindless busywork, he is sorely underestimating her. She unbuttons two extra buttons at the top of her ivory blouse while he addresses the crease of the file.

“Scully, are you really dissenting on the Inland Empire case? I didn’t even realize we never turned this in. I thought you’d signed it. You were IN that video game with me… Scully, are you listening?”

“Mmhm,” she murmurs, pressing her lips together for color. She glances to make sure the edge of her bra is visible at the slanted edge of her blouse. Finally, he’s turned around, the expression on his face a testament to how much can be done with very little black lace.  

“What are you doing?” he asks hesitantly. He strokes her ego inadvertently as his Adam’s apple ducks shyly in his throat.

“Nothing. Relaxing. I finished my work.”

“Well, some of us are still working,” he insists, gripping the arms of his chair. The sight of his fingers applying pressure to something other than her hips makes her jealous, makes her bring her hand to the final couple of buttons on her shirt.

“And some of us,” she says as she slides the buttons through their slits, “are relaxing.” The sound of her own voice sassing him in the name of desire rather than the supernatural thrills her.

She rests the back of her hands on the table behind her to let the shirt fall completely open and give Mulder a better view. As she watches his breath quicken through his open lips, she rethinks that – her effect on him might be supernatural after all. But he is resisting, and she wonders if it’s because he wants to work, or because he’s being stubborn. She knows by the rise in his pants that it’s not because he doesn’t want her.

“I’m starting a third pile for our closer review,” he says in a valiant effort to avoid leering at her. “We’ll go back at the end and fill them out together,” he says, turning his back to her and placing her Inland Empire file in a fresh place on the cluttered desk. She takes the gesture in stride. Mulder always likes to make her go around the long way. It’s less annoying while watching him manage a hard-on. 

“We can finish tomorrow, Mulder. It’s very late,” she says smoothly. 

“No, Scully. The longer this takes, the more actual cases we miss out on. I don’t want to waste more time. But you can go.”

“How sturdy do you think this shelf is?” She stretches her torso and reaches for the edge of it in an imaginary pull-up. The spectacle of lightly touching curves of her cleavage transforms his intended glance into a stare.

“Not very sturdy,” he says, gulping. He looks at her hard enough to convince her she’s the only file left in the room for him. But as soon as she grins victoriously and drops her arms from the shelf, he turns around and puts his feet up on the desk.

“Go home, Scully. It’s fine,” he says. She can hear his craving for her in his voice, and her clitoris demands a reckoning. She walks toward him in pursuit of it.

“No, Mulder. Let’s discuss the cases. Really.” She stands beside him and drops her shirt to the floor. She opens the file in question with one finger, leaning forward past him. She rarely has the opportunity to see his skin any color other than steady olive-tan. But as she struts her breasts across his eyeline, she swears she sees some pink rise from his collar.

“I thought my explanation on this one was very eloquent,” he murmurs humbly.

“ _Out where the intellect is at war with the primitive brain in the hostile territory of the digital world, where laws are silent and rules disappear. In the world where laws are silent and rules disappear in the midst of arms_ ,” she reads. “Eloquent indeed, Mulder. What the hell does it mean?”

“It means,” he says, turning his face toward her body so that she can feel his breath on her sternum. The heat of it between her breasts is enough to make her lose control, and she doesn’t want to – not yet. She circles around his chair, shoving his feet to the floor as she reaches the other side. She leans against the file cabinet, her composure slightly restored.

“It means?” she urges. He locks eyes with her to avoid looking at her body. Which only makes her want to show him even more of it.

“You were there, Scully. You know as well as I do that video game character was a murderer.” She feels her eyelashes flutter daintily against the vehemence of his eye contact. But she wants him panting for her, she wants him begging for mercy. She doesn’t want his dick hard, she wants him hard from tip to tail for her. So she runs a fingertip along the lace of the bra cup. 

“Ooh, come on,” he says in the voice he reserves for protesting injustice. “You really want to do it in the office?” 

“No, I don’t. I want to go home,” she says.   “But you want to prove that video game vixen came to life. So go ahead and do that.” She wonders if she has pushed him too far, if his passion for the truth will in fact outlast his passion for her. 

“I can’t prove it to you. You know we didn’t find that kind of proof.” 

“Then how do you know?”

“I just know.”

“How do you know, Mulder?” she says, dipping deep into the well of Scully discipline to resist jumping him as she brings it home. Her body wants physical contact so badly she is digging her ass into a drawer pull on the file cabinet. Her nostrils flare in tempo with her heartbeat as she runs a thumb seductively under the strap of her bra, posing a strong threat of releasing it.  

“Some things you just know,” he says as sweat beads form along his hairline. He sucks his bottom lip in and shifts his hips again. She can see his professional and sexual frustration forming a set of clear coordinates in the center of her body. She drops the strap, shrugs her shoulder a bit, feels the sharp plane of her nipple lift itself past an embroidered swirl. 

“You can’t ‘just know’ anything,” she says. This argument is second nature to her - she’s had it so many times, she can have it with her eyes shut, can have it with her nipple showing, could have it with his fingers inside her, if necessary. “Knowing is a guess, plus proof, equaling a conclusion.” 

“Not everything works that way.”

She unzips her skirt and drops it, feels her skin searing under the heat of his eyes as she bends and slithers one leg from her pantyhose and then the other, crumpling the damp lined crotch in her palm. 

“Good Lord,” he mutters as he touches his top lip. 

“Hm?”

“I said, what about the Lord? God?”

“Faith and knowledge are two different things.”

“Only in the construct of religious didacticism,” he says obstinately.

“Everything else works that way.”

“What about love?”

“What about it?” she says, placing a hand between her legs and reaching her pointer finger into her pussy. _Do not make me finish this off myself for the second time today,_ she thinks. She will leave him here, balls bluer than his pen’s ink if he does. 

The wild colors in his eyes unite into a bold green as he puffs his chest, cocks his chin gently in her direction. “If I tell you I’m in love with you, are you going to ask me how I know?”

Suddenly, Scully forgets she is mostly undressed. She forgets her desire, her spite, her hunger both literal and figurative. The hand she was using to pleasure herself grips her inner thigh lamely for stability. He was not supposed to say this, feel this – neither of them were. She considers asking him outright to take it back, but her voice is caught in her throat. She can see a thousand possible little catastrophes flowing from this tidal wave. And even so, he is the lighthouse; his pull on her is visceral. She obeys it. 

“That’s an inappropriate argument,” she says in a kind voice, making sure he has a convenient out if he wants it. But he rejects it. 

“I’m in love with you,” he says, his voice pure and dark. She slides her naked thighs against his desk, tips his chin up and kisses him lightly. When he searches her face one more time for an answer, she keeps her lips closed but peels her legs open, climbs on top of him, anchoring her hands to the long planks of his shoulders. 

“And this is appropriate?” he asks with an adorable twinkle in his eye. She nudges his stiff cock with her pussy and watches desire swallow the challenge in his eyes. He glides his hands over her ass and she takes his face in hers. As they kiss, she moves her tongue across the roof of his mouth, scrawling the words she can’t say aloud in loopy cursive on his alveolar ridge.

The way she wants him now is different from the way she did a few moments ago. It cannot be played for effect or held at the station. It cannot wait for her to finish her game. She hungrily undresses him - undoes his belt, lifts his tie. She drops it over her neck, letting the knot hang loosely below her gold cross, the silk tickling her skin all the way to her lower abdomen and sending a chill to the tip of her nipples.

“Jesus, Scully. Anybody ever mention how goodlookin’ you are?” She giggles as he fumbles with his wallet, takes out a condom. She unzips his pants, slips her fingers into his boxers, and takes his dick out, holds him gently, taking in the smooth thickness in awe. The sight of him so plainly excited for her still makes her sigh with delight. 

“I hope you never stop doing that for me,” he says in response.

She smiles as she takes the condom from him, rolls it down the steely length of him. “I hope your cock never stops doing this for me,” she says, giving it a firm squeeze. He unclasps her bra and slips it down her arms, kisses her collarbone in full, soft swooshes. She raises herself up a few inches and guides the tip of his dick inside her, holding him there as she adjusts to his girth.

She runs her thumb lovingly over the desperate furrows his brow, marveling that she could ever find herself turned on by Mulder’s despair. He wraps his hands firmly around her waist and slides her hips gently down his shaft. She looks for his eyes and holds them as they descend together, her breath hissing like a hot iron as he fills her up. The muscles of her eyes twitch beneath her lids as he softly plants kisses along her jaw. And then she hears a noise, freezes. He stops, worried he’s hurt her.

“What? Are you okay?”

“Do you hear that?” she whispers urgently. He starts to shake his head no, but the footsteps become more distinct. He helps her off with a shove, tucks his dick under his desk. She jumps into her pants, reaches for the bra.

“No time,” he says and kicks it under his chair. She shoves her arms haphazardly into the sleeves of her blouse, wraps it over the tie around her neck. All her erstwhile tools of seduction have become mundane annoyances. “Sit down,” he orders, and she sits in her chair with her back to the door. “Don’t move,” he says quietly. “Just keep looking at me.”

And she does. In fact, she is so busy looking at him, so busy being undone by the intelligent flicker of his long eyelashes, so busy studying his arm muscles to see if he is stroking his dick, so busy trying to nail down the color of his eyes, that she forgets to be scared of Skinner moving any further into the office and finding her plainly in heat.

Mulder nods contritely as Skinner reiterates a warning from the director about their acting like rules don’t apply to them. He yells down the hallway as he leaves that he wants the finished reports tomorrow, no later. It’s unlike him to repeat himself, especially in person.

“Do you think he knows?” she whispers when she hears the elevator softly motoring up.

“No, why?”

“Why would he come down here just to tell us something he told us this morning? He’s acting strange,” she says as she reaches for a file.

“I don’t really give a shit what anyone else is doing right now. What are _you_ doing?” 

She puts her elbows on the desk and twirls her hair with one hand coyly, letting go of her unbuttoned shirt and beginning to read. As badly as she wants him right now, she cannot bring herself to give up the way he’s looking at her. 

“Now we actually have to finish these. You heard him.” 

“Are you going to get dressed?” he asks. 

“What for? It’s not like he’s going to come back down again,” she says, flirting out the corner of her eye. “Hands up top,” she adds and he groans, bringing both hands above the desk. She doesn’t mind writing, “I can’t answer these questions” over and over, now that she knows he’ll be going home with her.

* 

Mulder is suffering a very strong episode of déjà vu. It is the year 2016 and he is back in the basement office with Scully, reading through the files that once consumed him. He reviews the milestones of his life one manila envelope at a time: the passing of loved ones, his suspensions and reinstatements, his meeting Scully. But it’s not the general air of familiarity he’s concerned with. It’s a specific moment that’s just come back to him.

“I’m on my last box,” she says. They’ve split up the banker’s boxes – he is of course, still on his first. He watches Scully as she sips her tea, black-framed reading glasses steaming as her lips reach the mug. As she swallows, her blue eyes appear in the clearing fog. “I can’t believe these aren’t stored on some server somewhere,” she says.

“We’re lucky they still exist at all. Nobody cared but us,” Mulder says, loosening his tie as he reads.

“Care is a strong word,” she says, scribbling something and shutting her file. She places it on the finished pile. She is still quick to answer things he would rather ponder, and slow to answer things he would rather settle. 

“You know, Mulder, I’m really impressed that you wanted to take this opportunity to go through these. It’s a healthy instinct to purge and let go of things that are no longer necessary.” 

“Thank you, Dr. Scully,” he teases, though he is anything but annoyed with her. He watches the delicate drape of her light blue silk blouse over her collarbone, thinks about sweeping his fingers under it. 

They have had sex on a few occasions since they started working together again. But they seemed just that – occasions. A momentary lapse in judgment on the road, a desperate attempt at solace when her mother died… He wonders if he’ll spend the rest of his life waiting for events horrible enough for her to need him or for enough distance from home to vindicate their attraction. His fear calls him to action, to honesty.

“Scully,” he says carefully. “Do you remember that time when we had first started sleeping together and we almost had sex in this office?” The sudden color in her cheeks gives a purple hue to her eyes. She shakes her head no and hides behind her tea mug.

“Really?” he asks sincerely.

“Really,” she gurgles. He can’t tell if she’s flustered because she’s moved, possibly even aroused, or if he has simply embarrassed her. He decides it’s worth finding out.

“You were behind me, over there. And when I turned around, you had unbuttoned your blouse. You were torturing me because I’d gotten a very obsessive-compulsive bee in my bonnet about some task we were undertaking together.”

“That seems impossible,” she deadpans as she cocks her chin. She’s listening.

“I don’t think I’ll ever forget it. You ran your thumb up and down your bra strap like this,” he says miming against his shoulder. “And when you dropped the strap, there was this little…” He considers stopping but the way she wets her lips tells him she doesn’t want him to. “There was this sliver of rosy perfection peeking over the lace of your bra… breathtakingly alive, like the golden eye of a tiger through wild brush.” 

She inhales sharply, as if she has been forgetting to do so for the last few seconds. It is not what he expected. He thought she might look away or make fun of his lyricism.

“I just mean, you were very beautiful,” he says humbly. He feels guilty for using the moment to manipulate her, for giving into the loneliness of remembering.

“Anyway,” he says. “These are your piles,” he says, stating the obvious because he needs something to say. “These can’t possibly all be trash. I’m sure some of what we did back then is still relevant.” She sighs and gets up, wanders around the desk to somewhere behind his chair, presumably to distance herself from the intimacy he’s created. He holds a file up over his shoulder for her to see.   “This one? Why is this in your trash pile?”

“Because I still don’t believe Gerry Schnauz was able to photograph things that hadn’t happened yet.”

“Scully, you were in that dentist’s chair. I only found you because the photograph was at the drugstore.”

“I believe he was able to create art based on his dreams, but it wasn’t a photograph of an event that had not yet occurred. I don’t know how he did it, but he didn’t do it with his subconscious.”

“You’re forgetting your Freud,” he says and she scoffs.

He’s willing to sound pretentious at the risk of impressing her. He hasn’t learned any other way to do it. Well, he has, but those all require her to be undressed.

“‘ _The_ _conscious mind may be compared to a fountain playing in the sun and falling back into the great subterranean pool of subconscious from which it rises_ ,’” he says.

“Actually, it was, ‘ _Das Bewusstsein kann mit einer Quelle verglichen werden, die in der Sonne spielt und dann in den grossen unterirdischen See des Unterbewusstseins zurückfällt, von dem sie emporstieg_.’” The tone of her voice hooks him at the back of the collar, spins him around in his chair, plucks him from his earthly home and gives him a home in her orbit. She grins.

His eyes track down her body. “Don’t pull rank on me with your German,” he says. It’s close enough to, “Please don’t fuck with my heart.” There are advantages to having the same person play your opponent, your best friend, your family, and your lover for twenty years. Some things can be paraphrased. 

Scully looks at him with the same calm interest she reserves for autopsies, speaks as if she is not standing before him several months after a breakup, in a nude mesh bra, nipples just barely hidden by two modest half moons of opaque material. “He also said, ‘ _Blumen anschauen ist sehr beruhigend. Sie haben weder Konflikte noch Emotionen_.’” 

He folds his hands across his chest, surrendering the protective layer of Gerry Schnauz’s case, placing his attention at her mercy. 

“What’s that? Something about flowers?”

“They’re restful to look at. They have neither conflict nor emotions,” she translates.

“You’re restful to look at, Scully.”

He imagines Scully getting dressed, her hair warm from the blow dryer, thoughts of him drifting through her mind as she clasps the bra around her belly button and spins it around. He moves an arm down subtly over his lap to settle the anticipation in his groin.

“There’s still something here,” he says, tapping the file on the desk, but his eyes on her. He cannot decide whether to hope she’s done teasing him, or to pray she’ll come show him what else is under her clothes today.

“It’s possible I guess,” she says, and then more slowly, “Yes, maybe there is.”

“I know there is,” he says, aware that they’re both more comfortable speaking in case files. Or in Scully’s case, German.

“How do you know, Mulder?” She shrugs the strap of her bra off one side, looking him drop-dead gorgeously in the eye. “How’m I doing?”

“Do you remember what I said to you that night, after you took your clothes off?” he asks, fusing his present and past love into something terrifyingly powerful.

“I hope it was complimentary,” she says with a little smile. She has no memory of that night, or if she does, she’s buried it deep at the bottom of the stack of banker’s boxes she keeps on their relationship. She is not the one whose heart ached for weeks in suspense of a response, is not the one who had to blink back tears when it came. She is not aware of the power her declarations carry thanks to the weight and consideration she gives them.

Suddenly, he can picture Past Scully so vividly, it’s like she’s there in the room with them. She is painfully sexy, her awareness of that fact in constant development. Her fear of her own capacity for emotions is acute. Her is skin taut and unblemished as a white sheet, stretching to hospital corners over her sharp bones. Her ass cambers out firmly out from her lower back, the flesh resisting his hands as she sits in his lap. She is bolder and naughtier than he’d assumed, slaying him with a generous tongue and a wicked trigger-worthly grip on his cock.

Present Scully interrupts his reverie by unzipping her pants and sliding them down over her hips. He shivers away the eerily tempting thought of a threesome with both Scullys.

“Why are you doing this?” he asks Present Scully.

“You don’t want me to?” she asks without the slightest hint of worry. 

“Of course I do. But what is this… what are we?”

She steps out of her pants and shoes as she walks toward him. He can feel his need for an answer to that question fade a little more as each of her toes rolls against the floor. The warmth radiating off her body carries the scent of her skin, the expensive soap she uses. He can see her climbing into the shower with him, laughing as she catches him using it.

“Tell me what happened next that night,” she says. “Show me.” He obliges without hesitancy, bringing her hips to him as he kisses her belly. Her underwear matches her top, which is to say, there is very little to match. Her skin is smooth and bare beneath the fabric, the subtle shadows of her anatomy on display. He rubs his tongue against the luxe mesh material, pressing until he can lick the swell of her clit through it. He wraps his hands around the full cheeks of her ass.

“Oooh, Mulder… is that really what happened?   You’d think I’d remember that,” she drawls.

“No, you weren’t wearing underwear. It was more like this,” he says, drawing her panties down to her ankles as he pulls her thighs over his and seats her in his lap. She reaches to take her glasses off but he stops her hand on behalf of his hard-on. Scully naked in glasses is one of his favorite fantasies.

He kisses her and runs his fingers through her hair, deliberately fucking with the neat tendrils of her curling iron. He remembers the first time she told him to pull her hair as he fucked her from behind against the bathroom counter, the way she smiled and gasped in the mirror with each tug as he shuddered and came inside her.

He unclasps her bra and she lifts herself slightly to help him take her nipple into his mouth, giving him the taste of her skin, the plush pillow of her breast against his nose. His dick aches as he unzips his pants. She nibbles his earlobe, dips her tongue into it. 

“Is this what happened next?” she whispers.

“We used a condom, actually,” he says proudly. 

“How respons… ible,” she says, her words combing themselves into her moan as he strokes the wet stream between her clit and her ass.   He parts her with his fingers and guides the head of his penis into her. When her eyes close and her mouth drops open wider, he thinks has never seen anything so beautiful. Not even Past Scully.

As he stares at her mouth, she lowers herself a bit more and catches him off-guard, nearly triggering his orgasm as she smiles at him up over her glasses in a fuzzy bedroom stare. She brings her face towards his, kisses him like her life depends on it, lowering herself gradually and sliding her breasts against his shirt as she does so, her grunts echoing down his throat. 

“Oh,” he says, suddenly remembering something. He takes off his tie and puts it around her neck, cups his hands around her breasts and presses them around the material, picturing his dick there instead. He settles for his mouth.

“Mm, that does seem familiar,” she says as he kisses her chest, his biceps burning as he tries to prevent her from sinking fully onto him. He rests his cheek against her cool, damp chest, dizzy with the tight heat of her. She runs her fingers over the muscles of his arms as she waits for him to give her what she wants. “You feel so good, Scully.” 

“You can just fuck me, Mulder. I know you like me.”

“Well, that’s not what happened,” he says. She squints in disbelief and he looks her in the face, tugging the tie between her breasts. He recalls the sight of them young and swollen and bobbing as she fumbled with a condom. Her skin there is more fragile, more freckled, but they are still full and round and the death of him. She shifts her weight to her knees rather than her hips, though her vagina still hugs the top of his cock.

“What do you mean?” she asks.

“Skinner came down. We had to stop.”

“You’re kidding me,” she says and he chuckles as he shakes his head no. “Well, what the fuck, Mulder?” she says delightfully annoyed.   There is nothing more fun than a vaguely irked Scully still impaled by his erect penis. “We eventually finished - when he left - didn’t we?”

“No. You went back to your side of the desk to work, sat there with your shirt open from belly button to clavicle, nipples poking through the silk,” he says, tweaking the currently available nipple with his fingers and making her hum with pleasure.

“Your eyes wide and mouth chapped, just like it is now, light red splotches on your neck where my mouth was… here… and here…,” he says, gently touching the splotches on her shoulder.

“I had to put my hand on my dick just to make sure it didn’t break off and run away with you. I was ready to tender my resignation over these,” he finishes, spreading a hand over one of her tits.

“Ahhh,” she sighs as she sinks down to the base of his cock. She places her lips on his, finally rising and falling on him, hypnotizing him with the familiar tight embouchure of her pussy. He moves his hands over her strong back and shoulder blades, presses his long middle finger down the center of her ass as he fans the other fingers over the soft flesh on either side.

She moans softly and lilts herself drunkenly to the side as she fucks him, her mouth parted and tip of her tongue trapped between her teeth. He draws circles around her nipples with his thumbs… suddenly reeling in shock as she lifts herself completely off of him.

“What are you doing?” he says, panicked. 

“Turning around,” she says and lifts one knee as he picks her up and helps her sit backwards on his thighs, right against his throbbing member. She wastes no time teasing him, rises onto her knees with her hands on the desk as she lets him find his way back inside her pussy.

As he watches her ass roll in subtle waves, her hair messy and tickling her shoulders, he groans from deep inside his chest. He slides his hands over the front of her body and covers her stomach, one of her breasts, pulling her gently back to him as she purrs and sinks down onto him.

“Fuck… me… Mulder” she says. “Please… fuck me… please…”

But suddenly, she freezes. 

“What is it?”

“Do you hear that?”

“No, but my hearing isn’t what it used to be.”

“Should I get off?”

“No,” he says, unable to imagine a world that would allow them to leave this undone. “Just wait.” 

* 

Skinner is in his raincoat, tapping the point of an umbrella along the floor in front of him like a cane as he exits the elevator. He wants to tell Mulder and Scully not to waste too much time on going through their boxes. 

Of course, he could have told them on the phone, by email, by text. The truth is he likes having them back. When he was a kid, he could only sleep with the knowledge that his parents were awake with the lights on downstairs. It gives him comfort to know someone is still watching for the things he can’t.

He is about five steps from their door, pondering this innocent comparison, when he hears the moaning and grunting. He frowns, ready to knock loudly and tell Mulder to watch internet porn at home for Chrissakes, when he hears someone else telling Mulder something. Loudly. 

“Fuck… me… Mulder,” says a voice that is undoubtedly Scully’s, though he is not used to hearing her talk like that. Skinner clears his throat for his own benefit and holds a breath in as he raises his fist to the door. He summons the nerve to stand his ground, intending to remind them of the rules they are blatantly flaunting, not to mention the common decency of - of - he hears her again, and this time – though she is still swearing - her voice is so tender, it tugs at his heartstrings. He lowers his fist down slowly to his side.

In a moment, Skinner is back in the elevator, trying not to smile as he presses the elevator button and heads home for a sound slumber.

 

*

 “It was nothing. Or he left,” she says as she squirms her body on his, looking for more of him. He lowers his hand toward her clitoris as she resumes fucking him, takes him with the full force of her tiny body. He waits to touch it, teasing her.

 “Yes, please… please…” He glides his fingers in wet circles around her clit like it’s the center of an ice rink. Her pulse drives persistently into the tips of his fingers as he gives it more pressure.

 “Oh my God, Mulder, that feels so good,” Scully says, splicing her words with anxious breaths.

 “I’m going to give it to you now, baby,” he says very softly into her ear, using a word he can only get away with in very specific orgasm-related circumstances.

 As he thrusts and twirls his finger, her glasses finally slide off her nose and hit the table, the plastic clunking sexily on the wood. She releases a single “Ha...” that turns into a sigh. He holds her tighter as she moans steadily, enunciating each of the four, five more long strides of his cock. He lets himself begin to come, pushing the full weight of his body into her. 

“Oh… Fuck… Jesus,” she cries, and he feels her words run through the quivering muscles of his cock. He loves that he can still make her take the Lord’s name in vain.

“Aaaahhhh, fuck… Mulder…” she moans at the peak of her vocal register, and he feels a vibration in the bottom of her belly, a power source buzzing against his hand, the vital hub of the person he loves. Her pussy squeezes and then releases, pulsing against him as she comes and finally rests back against him, a pool of their mixed juices between her bottom and his thighs.

“Fuck, Scully,” he says in awe.

She snakes an arm up around his neck and he encircles her like a human scarf, contemplating the firm press of her nipple into his forearm. She sighs in docile satisfaction and he thinks again of Past Scully sitting across the desk from him, she with her skin bared and he his heart. He remembers he watched her for two hours as she drove him to depths of braless madness before he begged her to take him home. 

Now he knows Scully does not fuck him for sport, that she does it when she can’t say what she wants to say. Still, even with this knowledge, with the soft ripples of her bottom against his pelvis, her shoulder blades pressing into his torso, her tangled hair around his nose, her pussy dripping over his balls – he still wishes she would just say it. 

And then, in spite of her vehement disbelief in mind reading, she turns her face up to his ear.

“ _Man ist sehr verrückt, wenn man verliebt ist_ ,” she whispers.

“Another Freud quote?" 

Her voice is husky with sex, sweet with emotion. “I love you too.” 

He clutches her tighter, folding himself protectively like wings around her body, and sways her back and forth to the silence like it’s a love song. He wonders if she remembered his confession all along, or if the force of their lovemaking brought it back to her.  

“Freud said that to someone?” he asks. 

“No. He said, ‘ _One is very crazy when in love_.’” She leans her head back on his shoulder and looks up at him. “I was paraphrasing.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you like it, feel free to tell me. I like that kind of thing. Here, @somekindofseizure on tumblr, and somekindofseizure@gmail.com.
> 
> Thank you to @icedteainthebag for insight and guidance.


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